


You Stole My Thunder

by swallowxblue



Category: Marvel, Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: A strange masked friend, Adventure, Angst, F/F, F/M, Genetic experimenting, HYDRA is never a good thing, M/M, Tony goes undercover, a group of unexpected heroes, alternative universe, but not really, he goes by the name Ironman, it is like a weird school, on a mission called 'bring cap back', scifi, things get a little sketchy, things go terribly wrong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-04
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 17:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swallowxblue/pseuds/swallowxblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything is regulated. Steve is used to a world in which genes are chosen, and soldiers, and bullies, are breed. The standing rules are serve or die. Only he is different. He doesn't like bullies. And then his best friend, Bucky, must leave. And Steve is left alone to face a reality he doesn't understand. One he doesn't want to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am not going to give much away about the plot or setting. Only there is genetic experimenting, space travel, corruption, and lots of good fun. By good fun, I mean angst and adventure. Anyway, please enjoy!

"They say he was about a tenth of that size before."

The boy in the corner of the library hunched further over his books. He was trying his best to block out the hushed whispers, because apparently they didn't realize that it wasn't just his size that was increased tenfold. He was used to this, but sometimes he just felt like screaming for them to stop it. His hands clenched under the desk.

"Hey, Steve-o," called a familiar voice, knocking the tension from his shoulders.

"Hey, Buck," he replies with a relieved sigh, a smile falling to his face. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? Rescuing you, of course." Bucky settles himself on the corner of Steve's desk with graceful ease, ease Steve knows he will never have. "Seeing as how you were late coming back to the dorm, I figured I'd better go look for you."

He gave his old friend a wry grin, "I don't think I am in any danger of getting beat up anymore, Buck."

Buck gave him a shrug, "old habit." His expression darkened for a second, as he scanned Steve's drawn face. "But then, knowing you, you'd allow yourself to get beat up in fear of hurting somebody else."

Steve laughed, almost forgetting about what the people were saying about him, almost. "You really know me too well, Buck."

His smile resonated victory, "courtesy of being best friend to Mr. Steven Rogers for five years."

"Only friend," he corrected. Before it was a matter of nobody wanting to be friends with a tiny, handicapped twig, because it was bad for one's image. Now, as far as Steve was concerned, he didn't need anybody else. Bucky was always there for him, and he liked to think it was likewise for him.

"Flatterer. I am sure there are people forming a line to become your friend these days. But enough," Bucky slid to his feet, with a particularly mischievous gleam in his eye, "anyway, let's go do something fun."

Steve knew where fun would lead to trouble with Bucky, given that gleam in his eye. But he agreed to go, if only to keep his friend out of trouble.

\---

"Bucky, Buck, can you, please, explain what the fuck we are doing here?" Steve looked around the crowded mansion, music pumped in his over sensitive ears. People danced and held conspicuous, red cups to their lips.

"These two girls invited me over, and I figured you should get out of that couped up library."

Steve fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, sometimes Bucky was clueless. However, they boy was already beginning to lose his patience with Steve's lack of enthusiasm, so he cut to the chase. "Where are we, and whose party?"

"Does it really matter?" Buck rolled his eyes at Steve's determined face, "some fellow named Stark."

"Stark?"He had long heard the gossip revolving around the Stark family, that making him all the more reluctant to stay.

"Oh, come off it, Steve, I heard that Stark hardly ever stays, if he shows at all. Don't get your breeches in a bunch, and enjoy yourself for a change! Nobody here knows who you are, and nobody is looking to judge."

Steve realized what Bucky was doing there, he had tired the same thing before. "Bucky, I don't need to go to a party to meet new people."

He watched his friend's face go switch from guilty to determination, "but you need to met someone, I'm not going to be around forever," the last bit he said so softly, if Steve didn't have good hearing, it would have been drowned in the background bass.

"Bucky?"

"I got the call." Oh, oh. Steve watched Bucky shift uncomfortably.

Steve didn't know what to say. He was shocked and a little upset that Bucky hadn't told him sooner. But then, he was telling him now. He placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, trying to shake off that guilty expression, he owed him that much. "Bucky! That is great!" And he is surprised on how sincerely he means it, really.

"Really?" Buck asks, echoing his thoughts, looking up at him guardedly.

"Yeah, really."

Bucky gives him his winning, shit-faced grin, and it seizes Steve's aching heart. He is going to miss that smile. "Great! Then let's celebrate."

Which, more of less, turns out to be Bucky dancing and drinking excessively, and Steve acting as his unofficial chaperon. Bucky has drank himself into a stupor, but refuses, defiantly, to leave the dance floor. Steve watches from the sidelines, ready to come in if his friend stumbles into the wrong group of people. So far, however, everybody appears just as drunk as Bucky. How he is going to miss his one, true friend. Getting called to service isn't a punishment, it is an honor, one that Bucky has been waiting for all his life. Steve knows it. He just wished that they had been called out together, like they always said they would. He can't help but feel a little lost at a world without Bucky. He had been a part of his life for so long, it was just weird, foreign.

"Steve!"

Speaking of the devil, Steve pushed off the wall, walking slowly to Bucky who was now surrounded by a group of giggling girls. He was a real smooth talker. "What is it, Bucky?" he asks patiently.

"See? He just comes right over here, just like that. He's a good guy, I love him," Bucky announces this to the group, much to Steve's embarrassment, as he realizes Bucky was talking about him. "I love you," Buck whispers in Steve's ear. And just as he is trying to figure out that smug expression of one of the girls, Bucky stands on his tippy-toes to give him a sloppy, drunk kiss.

It wasn't like Steve hadn't imagine this before. He had. About a million times, only to tell himself that Bucky, the womanizer, would never want him. A shrimp like him, whom Bucky took pity on. Yet, here he was pressing his lips to Steve's, drunk and desperate. And it took Steve only seconds to wrap Bucky up and around him. He grasped him like a desperate man in a desert, wanting to drink every last drop. His heart beat so fast, so hard, like his very life depended on this kiss. Because it did. A life without Bucky was not one he wanted. Especially not now, not when he learned that they could kiss like this.

Yet, they had to break for air. Steve loosened his grip slightly on Bucky's hips, hearing one of the girls whispering in response, "that was so hot."Bucky looked just as dazed as Steve felt, and for a moment he regretted reacting as he did. Maybe it had been a joke he took seriously, Bucky was the type to tease him sometimes. What is he would hate or berate Steve for his hidden desires? No, no, Bucky was never like that. "Bucky, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I just..." He searched desperately for the words that might make this type of situation right. Finding none, he left it hanging slightly open, releasing his friend and stepping back, awkwardly.

His long time friend seemed to come back to himself in that moment. He looked sadly at Steve, "no, no, it isn't that. Not what you think." The boy shook his head, letting out a sigh, followed a soft-spoken trail of curses. Steve flinched, still unsure if he should run or stay. "Sorry, Steve, no. It's just, I wish I did that a lot sooner."

A beat. Another. Steve felt all his blood rush with both relief and then excitement, trying to process Bucky's words, "it's still not too late," he said, hopeful.

Another sigh. "It is, Steve, I leave tomorrow morning."

Steve flinched, feeling burned by the news. Normally they gave you a week to get ready, a week, Bucky had kept it a secret. But he didn't have time to get upset, they didn't have time. "Well... there is still tonight," he half whispers, defeated.

Bucky looked down at his feet, swallowing, "I'm... not sure if that is a good idea."

Steve wanted to protest, to ask why it wasn't. Why weren't they a good idea? They would be great together. But then, with Bucky leaving, maybe it would be best not to know how great they would be. There was no refusing the call. He knew, in his right mind, that Bucky was doing what was best for them both. Leaving them off as friends, but that was not what Steve wanted at all. Yet, some Bucky was better than none at all. He could save this for when his best friend was gone, when he had time to be hurt or wounded by this rejection. Until then, he would shoulder it for their friendship's sake. They deserved that much. "Okay."

The rest of the night goes on as usual. Bucky drinks and flirts around too much. Steve scowls him, and eventually drags them back to their dorms. They both go to sleep in their separate beds. Steve is gently woken to a changed room. Bucky's stuff is gone, all packed into boxes, with the exception of one duffel bag. He swallows, wishing it wasn't true. Bucky's smile is hard and tight as the say good bye and shake hands. Steve desperately holds on until the door clicks shut, full of promises to keep in touch, and empty with the truth. That he may never hear or see Bucky again. And he can't stop the tears that well up, or the anger that comes with surprising, rushing force. He wanted to hit something. Someone.

\---

It was so unlike Steve to go looking for a fight. If anything, he would only ever be apt to avoid a fight. But the anger that surged in his gut wouldn't let him go, so he went into the city's back alleys in search of a fight. It didn't long for him to find one. Even with his anger, Steve wasn't about to pick a random stranger to beat on. No, he found a group of guys backing a poor kid into the corner, looking ready to pounce. Steve almost found a pang of guilt for being relieved he had found a reason to fight. But at least he could rescue the kid in return. "Hey! What do you think you are doing?" he called to the group leader.

The leader hissed in annoyance, glaring at the kid accusingly, "your friend?" The kid shook his head so hard, Steve felt a slight break of annoyance himself. The leader found this humorous, turning back his attention to Steve, "what are you then? Resident hero?"

Steve clenched his fists, blood singing for a fight, had he not been so ticked, he would have been scared of himself. "Just let the kid go."

The man laughed, as did the others, all turning on Steve. They began to stalk him like an animal just finding its new prey. The boy took this opportunity to run without so much as a look at Steve, but it was all fair since Steve was using him as well. "Sure, if you're willing to take his punishment too."

And then they began to lay into him, only Steve was more than ready. He dodged the man's left hook, bringing his right under and up, cracking into the man's jaw with a terrifying amount of force. One, two, three, and then kept going down. He swung around to where the leader was, a knife pulled out, looking murderous. "I'll teach you to butt into other people's business, prick!" the man growled lunging forward. It was simple to disarming him, Steve caught his hand, knocking the knife from his grasp, and laying his left into the man's stomach. He gasped and fell to his knees. Steve felt his heart beat fast, with power and anger. It still wasn't enough.

That was when he heard a slow clap from behind. He pivoted quickly on his toes, hands raised and legs braced, he was ready for another fight. One that didn't appear to be happening from relaxed man by the wall. He relaxed, but didn't let his guard down entirely. "Well, well, I do enjoy when somebody does my work for me. But seriously, you stole my thunder. My lightning, not cool, man, not cool." The man's voice was light and teasing, but Steve watched him closely as he edged toward him, into the light. "I mean, what am I without lightning, just a guy, an uncool guy." He stepped forward, much to Steve's shock, wearing a mask.

It was a simple design. Red and gold, with mirror glass for the eyes and a slot for the mouth. It gave him no distinction as to who it could be, no features, nothing. It was a little shocking. "Not what you were excepting, I know, it's the same for everybody. Sometimes I forget it myself," the man's voice had lost some of it's edge in exchange for pure pleasurable excitement. Like he was pleased Steve was confused by this mask. "It's good, right? Very vigilante."

"Sure?" Steve offers, some of the anger draining, or just simply being forgotten in his confusion.

"Good. Excellent. Now, back to business," the man is dressed in a suit, contrary to his mask, which is very ordinary. It is odd. "I'd like to propose a fight. Seeing as how you stole my thunder and all."

"A fight?" Steve asks, unsure, though his blood starts to hum in excitement.

"Yeah. You owe me, buddy. Plus, I think you could use for a real challenge."

"A real challenge?" Steve asks, amused, no matter how big the guy talks, he is still smaller, leaner than Bucky and now Steve. Does he really think he will stand a chance?

"Unless your scared," the man drawls, and that is all Steve needs to hear to pull the first swing.

The fight is pretty intense. Steve quickly learns that the man is definitely not all talk. His moves are concise and practiced. He matches with the new energy he was given, and a sense of delight. He had been yet to truly practice the true capabilities of his new body, given the doctors were too careful with him. And then nobody in school would even approach him, except Bucky. He landed a particularly hard punch to the man's side, which he clutched and backed a hair to recover. Steve allowed him that. It was about an hour they mutually decided it was time to throw in the towel. Somehow they both ended up leaning against the wall, the masked man's hands favoring his left side where Steve had hit.

He didn't know why he felt an apology was in order, but it was. "Sorry about that." He said nodding to the man's hip, which he had knocked in blind anger.

The man swept his hand through the air, "think nothing of it. I was looking for a fight. I needed it. I feel better."

Steve had to admit, he felt better too. For the first time, in a long time, he felt properly exhausted. It was a good feeling. "Me too."

He watched the iron mask as the man nodded. He wanted to ask so many questions. Who are you? Why are you wearing that mask? What's it's purpose? What's your business with those thugs I beat up earlier? But before he could as the man had already pushed off the wall, and began to walk away. Steve wanted to call to tell him to stop, he hesitantly moved to follow.

But the man did stop, and turned to hold up a hand, making Steve freeze in his tracks. "Until next time then, Steve." And then he left. Leaving Steve with more questions he needed to ask. Most importantly, how the hell did this masked man know who he was.


	2. Chapter 2

"Did you forget to take your meds?" the doctor asked, not unkindly.

Steve shifted on the examination paper, which crinkled beneath him. He didn't like taking the addressed meds because they always made him feel funny. Less clear, it created a layer of grogginess, and the only clarity he ever had was when he woke up in the morning. And with Bucky gone and everything, he was in a rush just to leave the atmosphere of his room. However, Steve had seen that kid, Bruce Banner, when he didn't take the meds. It was a scary sight. Banner was a scientist, and he constantly argued that the drugs were blocking him from a break-through. In retaliation, he didn't take his one morning, and the basement lab is still in repair.

Steve chuckled uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck nervously, "gee, I must of forgot this morning. I was distracted 'cause my room mate..." he trailed off there.

"Understandable. Arm," Steve followed the command, offering his arm as the doctor tied it off and retrieved a needle.

Steve watched the doctor measure out a clear liquid, and flick at the plastic tube. He figured he'd ask the question that was nagging at the back of his mind. "Is anger just a side effect of not taking the meds like is it engineered or..."

The needle pricked through his skin and into his veins, pretty soon the fog would return. He wanted answers first, but the doctor was silent as he pierced his vein. "The anger was real, Steven. I assure you, the emotions you felt were your own. Just intensified ten fold. That's you must take your meds," he pulled the needle out, "because you could hurt yourself or others. What if you were sad? You'd be suicidal. No, don't give me that look, I've seen it happen."

Steve pulled off the rubber tie, sighing as he felt the familiar fog begin to take it's toll. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me, it's my job. Take this with you though."

"What is it?"

"An epipen, instant relief, in case you forget again."

"Thanks..." Steve wasn't entirely sure if he appreciate it or not. But the fog made him think of Bucky, and that kiss, a whole lot less. So, maybe, it wasn't so bad after all. The doctor showed him how to work the device before ushering him out the door. "Wait. I don't even know your name?"

The doctor shrugged his shoulders, "it's Phil."

"Sorry, that was rude of me. I am Steve," he offered him his hand.

He cracked smile, which Steve had suspected he didn't do often. "It's a pleasure to meet you Steve."

"Yes, and you too."

\---

Steve had decided to get dinner before heading back to his room. It was the last ten minutes to get food, but he figured a little rush was better than going to bed on an empty stomach. As he sat down at an empty table, in the loud cafe, he began to regret it. His thoughts cycled around Bucky. He wondered if he was doing well, wherever he was. He also wondered if what it would be like if he was called out instead of his friend. Would Bucky be sitting here alone, sulking? Most likely not, he would have a ring of girls and guys around him, all slapping him on the back calling him their mate. He needed a distraction.

The bruise, already half healed, on his knuckles gave him enough. That stranger who wore the mask. Who was he? And how did he know Steve's name. He tried his best to remember the fight, but the memories just swirled in his mind, to distant to reach. He groaned, rubbing his sore temples. He had fought with the man. Then he disappeared, and Steve had tried to follow him. Only, he ran into the school guard, which had traced after he wasn't present for classes. They dragged him back to school, put unnecessary ointment on his cuts, because they healed within an hour anyway. His cells regenerated the fast, which was a mystery the scientists downstairs were still trying to configure. It was a hiccup in his genetic makeup, they said, but one worth keeping.

Then, he was speaking with Phil about what happened. He failed to mention the masked man. Steve had a feeling he shouldn't, one he couldn't remember now. Either way, he decided that it was something he would have to investigate himself. He knew he couldn't tell anybody about this new development. This person, he was a hiccup in the system. A man who hides his face, but why? He could easily change his face. It was a mystery. One, he didn't have the means to figure out. That was, at the moment.

Steve began to idly doodle on his napkin. Drawing came to him naturally, it was easy for him. It also relaxed him. It was easy to get lose in lines and light. Shading with the edge of his pencil, he finished turned to the dull point and frowned, not good for fine-tuning the details. He glanced around, as if hoping a pencil sharpener would magically be conjured up. No such luck. Yet, he did note that the cafe was nearly empty, and the workers were beginning to sweep the floors. Reluctantly he tossed the food he barely touched, and began back to his dorm room. His empty dorm room. The nagging feeling in his gut was so strong, that even the meds were not enough to suppress it. He didn't want to go back to see Bucky's bare mattress. To remember the friendship, the warmth, that was no longer there. And he desperately didn't want to remember the kiss that came too late.

The pencil he had in hand snapped as his nails bit into his palms, how could Bucky just do that too him. Kiss him like that after all these years, and then just leave with nothing more. He looked bitterly down at the split wood, and sighed, shoving it into his back pocket as he reached the door. He typed the familiar pass-code in, and took in a deep breath as he saw the light turn green and heard the faint buzz.

Steve didn't dare glance at the empty side of the room. Instead he kept his head down as he shuffled to his bed, and let his satchel side from his shoulders to the floor. Everything was quiet. Normal. What he'd expect. Though, the lights were on, and he didn't recall leaving them on that morning. And speaking of which there was some rustling sound, did Bucky leave the window open or-?

"Oh, hey, there, I was wondering when you'd get back, you're a bit late. I was waiting up, figured I should introduce myself."

Steve could only stare at what stood before him. On the opposite side of the room was a young man sporting an expense looking suit and sunglasses indoors. The other side of the room was already miraculously full. The shelves, and drawers he suspected, already stuffed with the other man's belongings. It looked like he had been there for months, not just unpacked a few hours ago. Steve realized, a little too late, that the stranger in his and Bucky's room was still speaking.

"-and I figured, hell, why not?" Steve just nodded, unsure how to really respond. What was this guy going on about now? "Oh, before I forget, please, just call me Tony. None of that other nonsense."

Other nonsense? Really Steve had no idea what he was talking about, but then, he hadn't really been listening to the guy's rant so he may of missed something. He just shrugged his shoulders helplessly, it wasn't like he could just ask the guy to leave. "Um. I am Steve."

"Well, Stevie, it is great to meet you," the energetic man bounced forward for a handshake.

Suddenly, Steve felt exhausted. "Just Steve," he shook clasped hands with this stranger, and felt oddly comforted. There was something so familiar, he just couldn't read it.

"Alright, then, Steve it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

It must be deja vu, he blinked, "yeah... you too." He felt like a ghost, spread so thin. With so many questions, and so much happening in one day, he really felt ready for bed.

"You look beat."

Steve blinked again. "Huh, yeah, long day, I guess."

"Yeah? Looks like it. Maybe you should get some rest?"

He was too tired to argue with Tony. Instead he kicked off his shoes and socks. Before long he was sinking down into the mattress. With eye lids heavy as lids, he knew he wouldn't last long. He heard his new room mate tinkering with something. It was the sounds of metal, and constantly tinkering, and fingers drumming on whatever surface there was. Steve would usually find this plain annoying with his sensitive hearing, but, oddly, found it soothing. Before long he fell into a deep sleep, courtesy to the long day.

\---

This kid didn't understand. He didn't even remember Tony's face. Hopelessness gnawed at his insides as he watched the sleeping form in front of him. Even so, there was still hope. There had to be a way to make him awake. There had to be. Or else, else, he didn't really know what he would do. In this case, there was no plan B. He just hoped that this would be enough. There was a lot on the line. A lot on the line to awake the good Captain.


End file.
